


Let Your Daddy Ride

by inksheddings



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve hadn't meant anything, it was just a joke, but it had felt good, having Danny take care of him with an affectionate competence Steve hadn't experienced since his mom died.  Steve's dad just … hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Daddy Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for LiveJournal's **h50kinkmeme**. [Here's the original prompt and my rather rough response.](http://h50kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1057.html?thread=56097#t56097) Thanks to the always amazing **whymzycal** for cleaning it up for me with her beta expertise. Title stolen from John Lee Hooker.

Steve expects a lot of things when breaking up a gambling ring. Money, top notch organization, high-level security, lots of muscle. What he doesn't expect are mice.

"Fucking wannabe Mouseketeers," Danny grumbles as Steve busts through the front door of the mouse racing ring's base of operations — a one-story, two-bedroom house in a quiet if slightly run-down residential neighborhood.

Chin and Kono have gone around the back. None of them make it inside, though, before the nineteen-year-old mastermind — with the unfortunate name of Mikey Spitz — panics and releases over two hundred white mice. But Mikey trips over one or two or fifty of the fleeing rodents, promptly knocking himself out when he whacks his head against the kitchen table.

That should have been the end of it, but Steve starts laughing at the anticlimactic finale of a case they should never have been involved in. But when the daughter of one of the governor's oldest friends had taken out a five thousand dollar cash advance on her mom's credit card and lost it all on a long shot named Mr. Whiskerface ... So, yeah, Steve starts laughing and also kind of forgets about the mice still scurrying around, until he pulls a Mikey Spitz and trips over one of them, earning himself a badly sprained ankle.

 

*****

 

Danny loosens his tie as he sits down on the bed, right next to Steve, who's propped up by pillows under both his head and his injured foot. An ice pack is wrapped loosely around his ankle.

"Okay, keep that damn foot elevated, you hear?" Danny says again. "No one needs the both of us incapacitated, shaking our canes at the bad guys' backs as they're laughing their asses off at us."

Steve looks up at Danny, concerned. "Is your knee giving you trouble again?" Steve hadn't noticed Danny limping, but there had been an awful lot of mice.

"Nah, but I expect it will start to any minute, now that you're laid up but good for the next few days."

"Oh, come on, Danny," Steve says with as much heat as his tired body can provide. "This isn't gonna keep me down for that long. I mean look at this–" Stave gestures toward his iced and elevated foot. "You've got me all set up here–"

"I've got unfortunate but useful experience."

"—so I don't see any reason why I shouldn't be up and around by tomorrow."

Danny rolls his eyes hard enough that Steve worries he might sprain them, and it's unlikely he could prop his eyeballs up on pillows and ice packs.

"I might almost believe you, my friend, if I didn't think you were gonna be off and outta this bed as soon as I shut your front door and head home."

Steve would argue the fact. Really, he would. But his ankle really does hurt, despite the elevation, the ice, and the pain meds the ER doctor had prescribed him – the same meds that are making it very hard for Steve to keep his eyes open right now. So arguing is not on the agenda, not right now. Instead he leans over, just a little, just enough to nudge his head against Danny's elbow.

"Alright, fine. I'll be good, Daddy," Steve says jokingly, but they're close enough for him to feel Danny stiffen.

"I'm not your dad," Danny says quietly.

Steve opens his eyes and looks up at Danny, who's got his eyes locked on something out the window. He doesn't look upset exactly, but his hands are clenched tightly in his lap. Steve bumps his thigh with his elbow. Danny finally looks at him and smiles. It's not a big smile, no teeth, no big crinkles making their way across his cheeks, but it's real and it's directed just at Steve, so it's perfect.

"But you do take care of me," Steve can't help but say, even though he's starting to wonder if he's crossing a line that has something to do with Grace and Danny's understandable sense of responsibility and protectiveness when it comes to his daughter. Steve hadn't meant anything, it was just a joke, but it had felt good, having Danny take care of him with an affectionate competence Steve hadn't experienced since his mom died. Steve's dad just … hadn't.

"And a helluva job that is, let me tell you." Danny unclenches his hands and ruffles Steve's hair with one of them, taking all the tension out of the air. Well, maybe not all of it, because this particular act is tender and something like paternal, and Steve feels the urge to say it again; to say — no, to whine, "Daaa _aad_ , knock it off!"

Steve just barely manages to refrain.

Instead, he roughly knocks Danny's hand away and closes his eyes. He's wrecked, he's exhausted. After a few good hours of sleep he'll wake up and feel like an idiot for getting all maudlin over non-existent daddy issues.

 

*****

 

Steve takes the next day off — it's Saturday, anyway — and Danny shows up around noon with Chinese food and a couple of DVDs. He's shocked to find Steve sitting dutifully on the couch, his ankle still elevated and iced.

"You really are a good boy, aren't you?" Danny says as he makes his way into the kitchen for plates and utensils, squeezing Steve's shoulder as he walks by.

It's Steve's turn to stiffen at Danny's utterance. But the tension not only effects his shoulders, but damn if he doesn't suddenly get turned on, which is equally as unexpected as Danny's words of praise. Steve's also not sure if Danny realizes what he said, considering his reaction last night, or if it's just part of their usual back-and-forth bickering.

Maybe it's the medication, maybe it's the arousal, but Steve decides to go with it. What the hell. He can always blame the pain pills if Danny freaks out again.

"I can be an exceptionally good boy under the right circumstances," Steve says as Danny puts the plates and forks down on the coffee table. Steve makes sure to keep his eyes on Danny's so he won't miss any possible reaction.

"Oh yeah?" Danny says as he opens up the food cartons. "And what, pray tell, would those right circumstances be? It might help me to know this the next time you go square dancing with a roomful of mice. Or dive off a cliff — it's an either/or sort of a situation."

"Well, there's two ways to get attention: one's to try hard to please, do everything that's expected of you. Except since good behavior is usually what's expected, it's harder to get noticed for it. The other way's to misbehave on purpose, garner that negative attention. It's still attention, after all, and usually the more focused of the two types."

Danny's got a plateful of mushroom chicken in his hands, but he's not making any move to take a bite of his lunch. He's staring at Steve like he's crazy, which is not unusual, but there's an assessing glint in his eyes that makes Steve sit up a little straighter. It's like Danny's thinking about giving Steve some of that negative attention and, amazingly enough, right now Steve really wants more of the affectionate attention Danny gave him last night. He wonders if he's screwed up already.

"And, um, are you planning on misbehaving right now?" Danny asks, putting his plate down. "Trying to get some of that negative reinforcement, like a little boy pushing his boundaries, or ..."

As the word "boy" leaves Danny's mouth, Steve's dick twitches and hardens slightly, and he isn't able to help the rather loud exhalation of breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. And Danny's a good detective — especially when it comes to reading Steve. He pops up off the couch, grabs one of the DVDs he brought over, and walks over to the television.

"You should like this one," Danny says, a little too loudly. "It's got lots of guns and bombs and idiots running off at the mouth."

Steve doesn't say anything, just waits for Danny to either sit back down or run out the front door. Danny does sit down, thankfully. He also fills up a plate for Steve, placing it in his lap on top of a throw pillow. The fact that Danny thought about the pillow, about making it easier for Steve to reach his food without dribbling it all over himself, was almost enough to make his heart beat faster, but when Danny tucks the napkin down the front of Steve's shirt, smoothing it down with a "There you go, Babe," Steve is even more grateful for the pillow because it hides the fact that his dick is hard.

 

*****

 

Both of Steve's parents had encouraged him and Mary to be strong people, capable of taking care of themselves. But whereas their dad had been all about the tough love — and Steve had realized, even in his early years, that it was indeed love — their mom had been free with the hugs and kisses and words of loving praise.

Steve still remembers the moment his dad had put him on that plane after Mom was gone, remembers the handshake his dad gave him then: strong enough to hurt, like it was grinding the bones in Steve's hand to dust. It hadn't lasted nearly long enough. All Steve had wanted at that moment — besides not getting on that damn plane — had been for his dad to hug him, even if it hurt, even if it took all the breath out of his body and broke all his bones.

Steve hadn't gotten that hug. He'd just gotten on the plane.

 

*****

 

Sunday morning comes around and Steve's ankle is feeling a lot better. He can put a little weight on it without grimacing from the pain. But he's getting bored sitting around doing nothing, so mid-morning he decides it's not going to kill him to go for a swim. Water's good for what ails you, and it's not going to put any strain on his ankle anyway.

But Steve finds Danny standing on the sand with a towel gripped tight in his hands and a pissed-off look on his face when he climbs back out of the ocean. Steve can't help but smile, anticipating the yelling and the hand waving and all that goes along with a good Danny rant.

None of that happens.

What does happen is Danny wraps the towel around Steve's shoulders and starts drying him off. He still looks pissed off, but then he's also rubbing the towel across Steve's head, down his arms, across his chest and abdomen, and down each leg. It's thorough and it's fucking erotic. By the time Danny's kneeling down and working on his calves, Steve's hard as hell and his swimsuit isn't doing a damn thing to hide that fact.

Steve wants to look down, wants to see if Danny's taken notice, but he's getting a little nervous now. He doesn't want Danny to stop. Far from it.

"I'll help you wipe off your feet when we get back up to the house.," Danny says, no longer drying Steve with the towel but not standing up yet, either. "You have to be careful with that ankle." His voice is rough but firm. "Then you're gonna hang your swimsuit up in the bathroom and lie down for a bit. I don't think you need any ice, but you should still get your foot up for a while after such exertion. Got that?"

The not-really-a-question is what finally drags Steve's gaze downward. Danny is there, in the sand, eye-level with Steve's erection, but meeting Steve's heated look with one of his own. "Well?" Danny says. "Did you hear what I said? You gonna be a good boy and listen?"

Steve closes his eyes and swallows hard, feels his dick twitch and nearly puts too much damn weight on his bad ankle with the sweet shock running through his veins. "Yes, I hear you … Daddy. I'll be a good boy."

 

*****

 

Danny's leaning over him, teeth nipping at Steve's lips. "You're doing so good, Steve, so good. Now put another one in, okay? How many's that?"

"Three, that's three," Steve answers as he pushes another of his fingers into Danny's ass. God, he's so tight, and he's been slow and deliberate with his instructions to Steve. Like he's teaching Steve, keeping up a steady stream of "Good boy," and "That's my boy," and Steve is afraid he's gonna come before he gets inside — he doesn't want that, he wants to please Danny, wants to make him proud.

"'That's three,' _what_ , Stevie?" Danny asks, pushing himself down on Steve's fingers until Steve literally can't push them in any farther.

Steve groans, doesn't answer right away, but then Danny's pulling himself off, taking himself away, and Steve can't have that, couldn't take it. "Three, Daddy. That's three, Daddy."

"Hey, hey, hey, none of that, Babe," Danny reassures him, sinking back down onto Steve's fingers and cupping one side of his face with a gentle hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, you're here – we're here together, okay? Okay?"

Steve nods, feels his heartbeat slow just a little, feels his confidence return enough that he starts thrusting his fingers in and out. Danny's the one groaning now, meeting Steve thrust for thrust.

"Please, Danny – Daddy. Please, Daddy. God, I want —" And Steve can barely believe the words coming out of his mouth. He's turning himself on, being able to say all this to Danny, to have Danny biting his own lip and gripping his own dick to keep from coming when he hears Steve call him _Daddy_. It's amazing, and heady, and Steve wonders if that's what makes this hot, what makes it okay — they've both got the power here, they're both getting off.

Danny leans down and kisses Steve hard, pushes his tongue inside his mouth and rocks himself on Steve's fingers. When he breaks off the kiss, Steve chases after him, leaning up, but Danny pushes him back down against the mattress.

"Nah ah ah, Stevie. You gotta finish telling me — what do you want, hmmm? Good boys don't keep things to themselves. Tell me what you want." Danny reaches down and pulls Steve's fingers out of his ass and places them on Steve's dick, making the point that he doesn't really need Steve to tell him anything, he just wants him to.

"I want … I want to fuck you," Steve says, and for that much Danny rewards him by brushing his ass against the head of Steve's dick.

"Yeah? Who do you want to fuck, Stevie? Say it like you mean it."

"I want to fuck you, Daddy. Please."

"Good boy. Now hold yourself still for me, okay, son?"

Steve's nodding, wrapping his hand around the bottom half of his dick and holding as still as he possibly can as Danny lines himself up and sinks down slowly. When Steve feels Danny's ass brush against his fingers he moves his hand out of the way so Danny can go all the way, all the way down until he's practically sitting on Steve's belly.

Steve's panting now, Danny's ass is so tight. He thrusts up but Danny's got his hands on Steve's hips and he pushes them back down. "What do you say, Steve? Where are your manners?"

"Please, Daddy. Let me fuck you now, Daddy? I've been good, right?"

"Yes, you have, Babe."

And that's all the encouragement Steve needs to grab Danny's hips and hold on tight, to thrust up into him and — Jesus, _fuck_ this isn't going to last long at all. But that's okay because Danny's precome drips on Steve's belly and then he's saying, "That's a good boy, Steve. That's my good boy, fucking me so good, making Daddy feel so hot. Hold my cock, Stevie, touch it."

Steve does as he's told, jacking Danny. His rhythm is erratic, he knows, but it's the best he can do, and it's obviously enough for Danny, who comes all over Steve's chest and belly with a curse and a shout.

"Oh, fuck, Daddy," Steve says, gripping Danny's hips hard and rolling them so Steve's leaning over him. Steve feels the sharp pull of pain in his ankle, but he doesn't give a shit about that. He's got Danny, who later will bitch and moan and make Steve put his foot back up on a pillow with ice. Then he'll hand Steve a glass of milk to take his meds with. These thoughts just spur Steve on because they shouldn't be hot, but they so fucking are.

Steve pulls Danny's legs over his shoulders and manages to sink in just that much deeper. One last hard thrust and Steve is coming, pushing in as hard as he can and kissing Danny's mouth awkwardly, mashing their teeth together.

Steve collapses on top of Danny. It takes a minute for him to gather himself enough to start pulling out and rolling off, but then Danny wraps his arms around Steve's waist and holds him tight, not letting him move. Danny is hugging the fuck out of Steve, and if he wasn't so wasted, Steve is sure he could get it up again just from this alone. But he is wasted, mentally and physically, so he just does his best to hug back, managing to roll them so they're both on their sides. His dick slips out of Danny's ass at the movement, and Danny hisses with discomfort.

"Sorry," Steve says, kissing Danny's cheeks, his eyes, the tip of his nose. "Sorry."

Danny shakes his head, chuckles slightly, and kisses him back. "How's your ankle?"

"Sore," Steve answers honestly.

"You wanna talk about sore, do you, buddy?" Danny teases, but there's an edge of nervousness in his tone. "Gimme a minute and I'll wrap it and ice it for you." Those words come out with more confidence and certainty.

Steve reaches up to Danny's face and traces around an eye with his thumb. He sees both questions and answers in the fond and concerned look on Danny's face. Steve knows they'll have to talk about this later – well, knows that Danny will want to talk about it later – but for now, they're okay. They're good.

They're good.

 **end**

 

*I actually did read about a mice racing gambling ring, I swear to god. Google it!*


End file.
